Blessed Protector
by BenquashaFraser
Summary: Jim gets kidnapped, Blair goes after him and they end up in Chicago. My first Sentinel fic.
1. Chapter 1

Blair Sandburg paced up and down the main room of the attic, his eyes flitting nervously to look at the clock hanging on the wall. His friend, his partner, was an hour late and that just wasn't like Jim. If Detective James Ellison gave you his word that he would be somewhere at a certain time then he would be there. It wasn't just that Jim was late though; Sandburg knew that Jim was more than capable of taking care of himself. There was this sense of danger nagging, well more like screaming, at the back of Blair's mind. He knew something was up; he just knew it. Jim had only been late once before and the thought of what had happened that time made Sandburg shiver. Something was wrong but who would believe him?

"Banks!" Blair took a deep breath before responding to the gruff voice on the other end of the phone.

"Hey Simon, it's Blair."

"Sandburg!" 'Shit,' Blair thought, 'Simon's angry.' "Look Sandburg. I've had a long day and I'm leaving now so whatever it is, it can just wait."

"No, Simon, you don't understand," Blair tried to reason, "Jim's late and that's just not like him man. I know something's up." He spoke quickly as he wanted to get all of his words out before the man on the other end hung up on him.

"Okay Sandburg, how late is he?" Deep breaths Blair, Simon's got to understand that Jim is never this late. It's not like he's only fifteen minutes late or anything, Blair told himself.

"75 Minutes but that's…" Blair didn't get chance to finish his sentence.

"75 Minutes! Jesus, Sandburg! Jim is a grown man! He can take care of himself."

"Simon…" Blair began but it was too late, the man on the other end had hung up. Listening to the dial tone for barely a second, he ran a hand through his shoulder-length curly brown hair and pondered his next move.

Moments later found him striding decisively towards the door, his already packed bag slung over his shoulder. He had thrown a few changes of clothes into the bag, along with a medical kit (he had wanted to be optimistic but he had spent too much time around Jim and the rest of the Cascade PD not to know that optimism was no good if you couldn't be practical too), ready for their camping trip.

As he left the attic and moved to close the door behind him, he could hear Jim's voice in his head, reminding him 'don't forget you keys Sandburg'. He smiled slightly as he grabbed them off the small table by the door. "I've got them," he whispered to the memory.

The empty space that should have been occupied by the truck seemed to taunt Blair, reminding him that his friend was missing and he had no idea where to start looking. Well that wasn't strictly true. He pulled the slip of paper out of his trouser pocket as he sat in his car.

'_Sandburg,'_ it said in Jim's neat handwriting, '_I'm just popping out to the fish market to get some bait. Make sure you're packed. Jim.'_

The fish market was only five blocks from their home. Sandburg closed his eyes as he started the engine. He was hoping that it would start without a problem, although he had to admit it had been running a lot better since Jim had insisted upon getting it serviced. The engine started beautifully; maybe it understood how much Blair needed it to work today. His tires screeched as he tore down the road towards the fish market, the photo of Jim and his army buddy sitting in Blair's jacket pocket, where the he had put it, at the same time as he had grabbed his bag.

The stench of the fish market clogged his nose as it latched on to his clothes and skin, the noise assaulted his ears and he wondered if Jim had dialled his senses down to one of their lowest settings when he had come in here, assuming he had made it this far. Blair shook his head; negative thoughts were not welcome there. Walking up to a stand that looked as if it might contain something suitable for fish bait, Blair dug into his pocket and pulled the picture out.

"I'm looking for this man." He showed the picture to the man next to the table and pointed to Jim. "Have you seen him?" The man looked at him suspiciously.

"What do you want with him?"

"He's my friend and I think he might be in trouble." Blair said. His arms were hanging by his side because his shoulders were so tensed up he couldn't have moved them if he had wanted to. Mentally he willed the man to understand the urgency he felt. Blair wasn't sure what convinced the man to talk to him but he knew something had when he saw the man's face soften.

"He was here."

"Yeah? How long ago?" Blair asked, shifting from foot to foot; now he couldn't stand still.

"I dunno. About 2 hours ago I think."

'Okay, so Jim came straight here,' Sandburg thought, 'now what?'

"Great, thanks man." He was about to turn and leave when another thought came to mind. "Hey, I don't suppose you saw which way he went, did you?"

"Sure I did." The man's tone suggested he thought Blair was seriously unhinged. "He went out that way." He pointed to the back entrance. "I thought it was weird because I remembered how he'd parked that really nice looking truck out front." Blair's head was spinning now. Why hadn't Jim gone back to the truck?

"Was he with anyone else?"

"Not when he arrived but when he left he was flanked by two military looking men. One of them had a tat of a red leaf on his arm, you know, the one with three pointy bits?" Two military looking men? This stank of déjà vu and Blair didn't like it, not one bit.

"A maple leaf?" The fisherman shrugged. "Ok thanks, you've been a great help." Blair left out of the back entrance, maybe he would be able to find some clue as to where Jim had gone out there.

He was surprised to find that there was a lot worth noting out back. None of it looked promising but it was somewhere to start at least. The scuffed up dirt looked as if there had been a struggle. Blair was glad Jim had fought back but he wasn't so glad about the splatters of what looked like blood on the floor. The car had left thick strips of black rubber and deep grooves in the layer of grime and filth that coated the ground; Blair guessed this was from wheel spinning when the driver accelerated away.

He looked up from where he was crouched next to the tire tracks and spotted a scrap of metal glittering in the sunlight, next to a broken brick wall. Jumping up, he moved quickly and was soon standing next to the metal. He scooped it up, he had been expecting it to feel warm from lying in the sunlight but it was cold. Surely that meant that it hadn't been here very long? Blair turned it over in his fingers; it was a piece of a badge or something. It was part of a circle with a gold crown in the middle. The circle was red with yellow writing which read 'CANADIAN LIGH'.

Blair shoved the metal in his pocket and ran and looked around the rest of the alley. At the end of the alley he saw a man sitting, wrapped in a blanket, watching him. Blair questioned the man and, after handing over $30 he learnt that three large men with military hair cuts had bundled his friend into a dirty white van with Illinois plates.

"Illinois?" he asked nobody in particular, after thanking the man. "What is a van from Illinois doing in Cascade over 2,000 miles away from home?"

As he ran down the street towards his car something parked on the side of the road caught his eye. Snapping his head around so fast his hair whipped his face and the muscles in his neck protested, Blair stared at the Blue and White Ford pickup before him. He moved over to it as if in a trance. He knew that he stood a better chance of getting to Illinois in Jim's truck than in his car. There was no way his car would make the 2,000 mile drive in one piece. Jim would probably give him hell for driving the truck but Blair would worry about that later, when Jim was back safe.

It was only as he was sitting in the truck, noticing that Jim had left the keys in the usual place that Blair thought about using a plane to get to Illinois. It would be quicker surely? He called the airport to find out when the next plane was leaving for Illinois. He was told that the next one would be leaving for Chicago at 1030 the following morning. Blair hung up the phone and sighed, he knew it would be quicker to drive. Making a mental note to stop at a 7/11 on the way to the interstate, Blair started the engine and pulled out into the quiet mid-morning traffic.


	2. Chapter 2

Detective James Ellison sat in the relative dark in the back of the cold van. He had already tried concentrating on his vision to look around him but had only learnt that the van had no windows and that his captors didn't feel the need to have one of them stay with him. The blankets covering the van floor were dusty and threadbare, they had obviously been in the van for a long time, and they made Jim's skin and nose itch.

He needed to concentrate on something other than his sense of touch to stop the pain that the initial beating had inflicted upon him. He knew from experience that he had at least one cracked rib and that he was going to be a nice purply-yellow colour in the morning. His shoulder ached from when his arm had been wrenched back and his neck tingled where the handgun muzzle had been pressed solidly against it. His knee was starting to swell; knees weren't supposed to be used as landing pads for collapsing bodies.

He decided to concentrate on his hearing to try and work out where he was. He could hear the normal sounds of traffic, along with, what sounded like, a train in the background. He could hear that his captors were listening to the radio - the music sounded like something Sandburg would listen to. He hoped Blair wouldn't be too disappointed about the fishing trip. He knew that the kid would have started to worry about him, when he didn't show up. He would prefer to go fishing himself but he hadn't really had much choice in the matter.

Blair's fingers drummed incessantly on the steering wheel. If he had been driving this journey for any other reason then he would be getting bored right about now. He was on the I-90 heading east. He had been on this road for just over 500 miles and he was glad that he would soon be turning off. Driving along the same road for so long made him feel like he wasn't making any progress, he didn't even know where Jim was being taken. He had tried calling Simon again when he had first got on the interstate but he had just got the other man's answer machine. He figured he would try again later, but he knew that Simon had arranged to go on a trip with Darryl and was likely to be incommunicado for most of the weekend.

"Hey Incacha," Blair spoke to a ghost from the past in a hushed tone, hoping to find some answers, hoping to find out how he was going to find his Sentinel. He knew Jim would laugh at him if he ever found out the Blair was trying to talk to ghosts but he was desperate. Anyway, Burton's monograph talked about the mystical side of the Sentinel so there was, at least, a small chance that this would work - a really small chance. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I really could do with some help right about now. If you were serious about passing the way of the Shaman to me now would be a really good time to show me how to use it, man." The next moment Blair almost careered off the road as a grey wolf leaped out in front of the truck.

"What the hell?" Blair cursed.

'He wants you to guide me and my animal spirit' once again Jim's voice sounded in Blair's mind.

"Animal spirit, right!" Blair took a couple of the deep breaths he was always telling Jim to take. Gradually his heartbeat slowed as the adrenaline surge, caused by the sudden appearance of the wolf, lost its edge. He took one more deep breath and turned his head to look at the wolf running alongside the truck.

"Okay man, where's Jim?" For an hour Blair followed the grey wolf down the interstate. He almost laughed when he thought about what other drivers' reactions might be to a truck chasing a wolf down the road but he didn't.

He didn't laugh because he remembered a story Jim had told him about how he had followed a black panther when he was in Peru and it had led him to a school that was on fire. As he had reached to open the door, the panther had pounced at him, snarling and baring its teeth. Jim had told Blair that he couldn't explain how he had known not to be afraid of the panther. He had just known it was only trying to help.

Blair hoped that the grey wolf, which had just ran into a gas station restroom, was also trying to help. He was usually the one telling Jim that he had to accept the spiritual side of being a Sentinel; now it was Blair's turn. Hadn't he told Jim to follow the panther in the jungle in Peru? Following a panther in a jungle wasn't really that different to following a wolf down the interstate, was it? Blair didn't think so.

When the truck was gassed up and paid for, Blair followed the wolf into the restroom. It was looking at one of the cubicle doors with a sad look that Blair couldn't stand to see. Opening the door, he stepped cautiously inside. Quickly he spotted something that made his eyes widen in surprise. Jim's unmistakable, if slightly scruffier than normal, handwriting was scrawled upon the wall.

'Chief,' it read, followed by the number to Blair's old cell phone, the phone he had lost last month. He remembered Jim questioning him about the phone when he lost it. He had wanted to know how many people knew the number and what they called him. Blair had told him that everyone he knew, knew the number and that everyone except Jim, and the rest of major crimes, called him Blair. Blair hadn't realised that Jim had memorised the number, but this had to be from him, didn't it. No-one else called him chief and no-one else had been that interested in number of a lost cell phone.

The word below that almost made Blair forget that he needed to relieve himself before running back to the truck. Chicago, Jim was being taken to Chicago, but why? Blair tore out of the gas station. At least now he knew where he was heading.

Jim Ellison huddled in the corner of the room, the heels of his hands were pressed against his ears and his arms drawn in tightly in an attempt to cover his eyes as much as possible. The bright white light was flashing in a pattern so irregular that he couldn't block it out. The piercing and seemingly never ending screech of a dog whistle ripped at his eardrums. He had no idea why he was here or what his captors wanted but he knew that he couldn't take much more of this. He had been tortured before but that had been using intimidation tactics and inflicting pain on his sense of touch. This was something new entirely and it was really starting to get to him. He wanted to tell his captors to go to hell. Only they hadn't showed themselves yet.

Suddenly the lights and whistle stopped and Jim heard a vent opening. He hoped that it was so his captors could talk to him. He hoped wrong. Soon the foulest stench that Jim had ever encountered was assaulting his nostrils with an unrelenting fury. Jim's chest tightened and his lungs kept forcing air out in an attempt to keep the dirty air from polluting them. The cracked rib screamed its agony and he began to heave. His last meal had been so long go though that only bile came up and, as it did, it burnt his throat.

Curling up on his side, shivering and choking and heaving, Jim wished that the smell would go away, even if that meant a return to the light and noise. As if reading his mind the vent closed and, before the smell had completely dissipated, the lights returned brighter than before and the whistling started again, only louder than before. Jim curled up further into the foetal position, trying to block his eyes and ears and nose from the world.


	3. Chapter 3

Upon entering the city of Chicago, Blair Sandburg's heart fell. It hadn't occurred to him that he knew no-one in the city and that now that he was here, he realised that Chicago was a very big city. He wasn't a sentinel; he couldn't just extend his senses and look for a familiar heartbeat, a familiar smell or another part of a broken badge that was miles away. Sighing, he drove to the downtown area of the big city and parked the truck. He hadn't slept for over 24 hours but that wasn't important anymore. It was the beginning of a new day and Blair wasn't going to waste it by sleeping.

Pulling out Jim's picture, he wondered where he should start his search for his friend. Stopping at every shop, pub, restaurant, café and takeaway seemed like too big a job for one man and it would have taken forever. Blair saw flash of fur run past him and immediately began to run after it, after all, it had led him this far. After what seemed like miles, the wolf stopped in front of an establishment called 'Tony's Pizza' and Blair looked down at it.

"I hope your right, man." He said, before looking once more at the picture of Jim in his hand. Blair stopped the first man he saw coming out of the building and asked him if he had seen Jim. The dark-haired man, who continued heading out of the door, carrying several boxes of pizza, shrugged and shook his head at Blair. He apologised and suggested that Blair ask Tony because Tony was in the shop more of the time and maybe he'd seen Blair's friend.

The flicker of recognition that crossed Tony's face made hope flare through Blair's body. Hostile and suspicious eyes locked onto his moments later and the older man asked him, "What do you want with James?" In his excitement that he had finally had some kind of luck, Blair forgot that hostility and suspicion weren't good.

"You know him?"

"James Ellison is a good friend of mine," the other man growled, "and if you don't tell me what you want with him I'll call another good friend of mine, who works for the Police."

"Jim's my friend, he's my partner." Blair was starting to realise that this situation had the potential to be really good or really bad.

"Your partner? You're a cop?" Blair shook his head quickly, causing Tony to raise an eyebrow.

"No I'm a consultant to the Police," Blair quickly showed his ID.

"Okay, so why are you looking for James? He in some kind of trouble?" Blair nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"I think he's been kidnapped. I found this next to a wall in the alley where he was last seen and he left a note on the wall in a restroom just outside of Illinois saying 'Chicago'." Blair showed the piece of metal to Tony, he felt sure he could trust this man but he didn't know why. Maybe it was because he had known Jim's name and had seemed very protective of him?

Tony cursed when he saw the piece of metal and muttered, "They're back." Tony turned away from Blair and pulled out his cell phone. "Ray, it's Tony," he spoke urgently into the phone. "I need your help. You better bring the Mountie too." Tony turned to look at Blair, his expression showing Blair everything he really didn't want to hear. Jim was in trouble, big time.

"I've called my friend from the Police. He's a good man and we're going to need his help if we want to find Jim alive."

"We? You're going to help me?" Tony looked at Blair with the kind of pity that is usually reserved for idiots and shook his head.

"James is my friend," he said slowly, "you think I'm just going to ignore that he's in trouble?" Blair shook his head and noticed the chair in the corner of the room. He slumped tiredly into it, finally someone believed him and he was no longer alone.

He must have drifted to sleep for a moment because when he opened his eyes there were two men talking to Tony. Both were about the same height, although the skinnier one was maybe slightly taller, it was hard to tell as he was slouched and his companion was stood ramrod straight. The guy was talking animatedly, his blonde spiky hair matching his wild mannerisms. There was something about him that made Blair feel that this man could be a cop or a bad guy with equal ease. His companion was a different matter. The bright red tunic and the odd shaped pants told Blair that he was a member of the RCMP. His posture screamed 'COP!!' and Blair would be willing to bet that the man stood this straight regardless of whether he was wearing the uniform or not.

More times than Jim cared to count his captors had switched from attacking his eyes and ears with lights and whistles to attacking his nose and mouth with air so foul bacteria would avoid it. He had almost reached the point where he just wanted to hold his breath until he passed out, never to wake again.

A black panther lay next to his curled up form, seen only by Jim. It made him think of Sandburg and how the kid would have him doing exercises where he would concentrate one sense to block out another. Only he couldn't do that here. All of his senses were being attacked, sight, sound, smell and taste by the continuous bombardment of stimuli and touch from the earlier beating. His body kept flinching at the attacks on his other senses, causing the rapidly swelling bruises to protest loudly.

The panther pawed at his upper arm and his mind transported him back in time. He was standing in a living room; it was the living room of the house where he had been protecting that singer. What was her name again? Sandburg would know, just like he knew how to deal with Jim's senses. He could hear Blair talking to him, his voice was calming, comforting. He was telling Jim to imagine a dial and use it to dial down his sense of touch. It had worked. Jim remembered that it had worked really well. If one dial worked on one sense, maybe he could imagine something with 5 dials and control all of his senses?

The police scanner from his truck came to mind and he smiled inside, something familiar was just what he needed. All of the dials except one were flitting about around their maximum setting, the one that wasn't was set at half. He guessed that that one was touch and dialled it down further to just under ¼. The other dials he moved to their lowest setting, effectively switching his senses off, after he calling out "Hey dickheads! Did I come at a bad time?" in his best John McClane impersonation.

Other than the press of the ground against his side, Jim felt nothing. He was no longer aware of anything else in the world. All he had was the solidity of the ground, he was keeping a little of his sense of touch only so he would know if he was moved, and his mind, his memories. The blue haze of the Sentinel spirit plane filled his mind. He made his way through the odd-coloured jungle to a familiar temple, where he knew it was safe for him to wait.

Blair listened silently as the spiky-haired detective, Ray Vecchio, told him about a Canadian militia group that had recently resurfaced in Chicago. Tony informed them that the militia were a rogue unit which had been involved in a joint covert ops mission between the US and Canada over ten years ago. The mission had gone wrong and the Canadian Unit had disappeared, only to reappear a week later to try and sabotage Jim, Tony and two other men's later attempts to rescue the hostages and get back to friendly territory safely. The two other men had been killed but somehow Jim and Tony had managed to complete their mission. The Canadians had sworn that they would be back for Tony and Jim and that they had better watch their backs.

The detective snorted and turned to the Mountie, "you have mercenaries in Canada? What do they do? Chase shopping carts with wonky wheels?" Blair felt his temper flare, he didn't like this detective's sense of humour. Canadian mercenaries had kidnapped his friend and all this detective could do was make jokes. Years as the son of Naomi, however, had taught him to control his temper, and not to lash out at people whose help he might need.

He didn't understand how Tony could just sit there like that and take it. Something must have given a clue to the Mountie though because he whispered something to the detective, whose eyes flicked over to Blair before he nodded briefly at his partner.

A wet muzzle pressed into his hand and, for a moment, Blair was confused. His animal spirit was normally greyer, wasn't he? Absently he ran his fingers through the wolf's fur, as it laid its head on his thigh and looked up at him with soulful eyes.

The jungle looked beautiful in this shade of blue. Jim had never noticed before because he was usually too focussed on what his spirit guide was trying to tell him. It really was though, the way the water had the clear blue colouring of a postcard from paradise and the air had fresh morning haze, it all was so pretty, so mesmerising. Striding out of the temple where he had spent the night, Jim took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean air. A force within him was compelling him to head east.

Walking was easy on the ready-made trail but soon Jim found himself in a place that filled so many of his nightmares. There were no children in sight, just a burnt down building. Scrambling over the rubble, he headed for where he knew his friend should be.

"Mancorak!" The sound escaped his lips with a whimper. Digging furiously in the blackened ashes, Jim began to shake. His fingers were so burnt that there was no skin left on the tips of them. Finally a body began to appear and Jim's digging intensified with a renewed fury. His heart was pounding in his chest and his breath kept catching in his throat, choking him. Gently he brushed the remaining ashes off his friend's face, murmuring "I'm sorry, Mancorak." as he did so.

As the face came into view Jim couldn't bite back the roar of pain that filled his lungs and then the air. The young face before him was contorted in an expression of pure agony. Long, curly brown hair was blackened and burnt. Dead, blue eyes stared out, seeing through a cloud of fear for ever more. Jim clutched his friend's body to his chest, pressing his cheek against his friend's head. Tears streamed down his face as he rocked backwards and forwards, sobbing out his friend's name in between choking breaths. "Blair," he cried over and over again.

Then suddenly the world was spinning and the blue glow of the jungle was gone. All there was, was darkness. He was aware only of a hard, cold surface pressed up against his side and cold air blowing on the wet streaks on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

The detective and the Mountie tried to stop Blair from participating in the case but he managed to convince them that it was in everyone's best interests if he was allowed to work with them.

"I can assure you that the Chicago PD, in conjunction with the Canadian Consulate, is doing everything in its power to find your friend and apprehend the men responsible for his abduction." The Mountie had spoken to him in an annoyingly polite tone of voice that had made Blair want to scream.

"Look, I know how police procedure works. I've been working with Jim for years man."

"Yeah well now you just gotta let us do our job. We'll find him." The detective, it seemed, just had to put his two cents worth in.

"Okay, whatever." Blair was a grad student; he knew when an argument wasn't working you dropped it and tried a different one. "Just promise me, when you find Jim, no matter what state he's in, you won't give him any drugs. Not even painkillers."

"Not even painkillers?"

"No, he uh… he reacts badly to even the mildest of medicines."

"Right…" Sarcasm from the detective topped off with suspicious and slightly disbelieving looks from him and his partner, just perfect for what Blair needed.

"Oh and if I find his captors first, I'll call you…" pausing for effect and to allow the fact that he wasn't going to stop looking just because they wouldn't let him in on the case set in, Blair took a deep breath and continued, his voice low and dangerous, "to let you know how many body bags to bring." Blair was only slightly bluffing. He hoped the others wouldn't call him on it though because he knew that if they did he would go out and find Jim and either get killed or kill someone else. It seemed his argument was having the desired effect though, the Mountie's eyes had widened and the detective's jaw was bobbing up and down. They would have looked funny if Blair hadn't been too worried about Jim to notice.

"You ain't got a gun, how you gonna take on a band of mercenaries? Even Canadian criminals carry guns." Blair smiled, his most dangerous smile. The detective was only asking a question that he could answer truthfully.

"I'm an anthropologist and have been working with the Cascade PD for several years. Do you think that I don't know a million ways to kill someone without using a gun?" Even a Sentinel lie detector wouldn't have caught him on that because the truth is a very powerful weapon. "Your partner doesn't carry a gun. What does he do?"

"He talks them into giving it up." The detective replied with a sigh and looked from Blair's determined face to his partner's blank expression.

Needless to say, he soon saw the plus side of keeping Blair in his sights. He didn't want another murderer, or another victim, in his city if he could help it.

Jim was starting to feel really thirsty. He had no idea if time passed at the same speed in the real world as it did in the Sentinel Temple but, if it did, he hadn't had anything to eat or drink for over 24 hours. Running his fingers over the concrete, he felt for water. With his touch dialled down so low, he was surprised by smooth the floor felt. Apparent smoothness hiding all of the bumps from those who weren't sensitive enough, those who didn't look close enough. It reminded Jim of his marriage.

To the world at large, they had seemed to be the perfect couple. They worked in a similar career, but not together so each understood what the other went through at work. Their interests appeared to be the same and they never argued in public. At home, though, there was a tension in the air that Jim hadn't been able to understand. He hadn't understood after their last fight had begun.

It had been about their bedding, of all things. Jim had picked it, not long after having come back from Peru, before he had joined the police. It was brown and green, it made him feel safe. That's what it took to get a comfortable night's sleep, wasn't it? Surely feeling safe was important? Caroline hadn't agreed.

"Jesus Jim! You're not married to the army any more!" she had yelled at him one night. He didn't understand what she meant but he agreed to go to the store the next day and get some different coloured sheets.

The store had been so big, and filled with so many different styles and colours, and he hadn't really known what he was looking for. He had wandered from aisle to aisle until finally something caught his eye. The blue and yellow drew his eye. He knew those colours; they were safe colours. He had hoped Caroline would like them too. She hadn't.

"Ok! You know what? If you want to be married to your job for the rest of your life then fine, but I'm not going to play second fiddle." She had walked into their room, packed her clothes and left. The next time he had heard from her was when she had handed him the divorce papers.

Laying on the concrete floor Jim realised he had never understood. Over time, he had just learnt to stop caring. Well, that wasn't strictly true, he did care but he had learnt to leave the past in the past. Normally he liked to learn from his mistakes, but this was one mistake he could never learn from. He and Caroline had just not fitted together very well.

Jim had heard the whispered conversations around the station. People jumping to conclusions about his relationship with Blair. One person had even describe them as being married but not knowing it yet. Jim knew his relationship with Blair was nothing like his marriage had been. Sure, he and Blair fell out about things. They argued about what Jim should eat and about tests Blair wanted to run on Jim's senses. Jim yelled at Blair for leaving his mess everywhere and Blair yelled at Jim for not talking to him. With Blair Jim always knew what they were fighting about; with Caroline it had seemed like there was always a deeper meaning that he couldn't quite grasp.

His hand landed in a puddle of something. He didn't really want to open his senses to check the liquid but he knew it was too dangerous not to. Dialling up his sense of sight a little to check that the liquid at least looked like water, Jim was able to see that it was clear. Before he could look any closer though, the lights started up again and he flinched away. A pounding headache began and he screwed his eyes shut, dialling his sight back down. He was really starting to feel dehydrated, the liquid would have to do. Without dialling up his sense of touch, he couldn't carry liquid in his cupped hand. Leaving his hand on the edge of the pool, he dragged himself over and stuck his mouth in the liquid. Moments after swallowing, Jim knew he had made a mistake.

Blair's earlier annoyance at the Chicago team soon subsided, as he realised how good they really were. Very quickly that had come up with a good lead on the Canadian mercenaries. It turned out that the brother of one of the members of the group was the owner of several warehouses in downtown Chicago. The Mountie knew most of them were legitimate businesses but two of them were largely abandoned, used only by the numerous homeless people in the city. Going on a hunch, the detective took them to the smaller warehouse, but sent another team to the larger one, just in case.

The warehouse was a bland looking building, blending easily in to the city background. Blair knew the detective's hunch had been right from the moment he stepped out of the car. It was almost as if he could feel Jim's presence around him and at the same time it felt like Jim was very far away.

"He's here." Blair blurted the words out before he could stop himself. The Mountie turned to look at him with the most convincing expression of amazement and disbelief that Blair had ever seen. It was the lifted eyebrow and slight tilt of the head that completed it, Blair concluded.

"Whatcha mean?" The detective asked with an aggressive curiosity.

"Jim. He's here."

"Mr. Sandburg," the Mountie began in that reasonable tone that told you he didn't believe you. "I'll admit it seems…"

"No!" Blair had to interrupt before the other man launched into one of his long-winded lectures, he was starting to understand why Simon and Jim got annoyed when he told them about the rituals of tribal cultures. "I can't explain it to you right now but I know he's in there, man."

"Great, another psychic." The detective muttered. The Mountie, it seemed, was content to just nod once and focus back on the task at hand. "Wait here." He was told by the detective. Blair wondered when people were going to learn that no-one, especially not him, listened when you told them to wait.

He watched the Chicago team disappear around the corner, before sliding Jim's service revolver out of his waistband. He had placed in the back of his trousers when he had left the truck. Checking that there were rounds in it, he flicked the safety off and headed for the other side of the warehouse.

He couldn't believe that he was actually choosing to carry a loaded weapon; he had vowed that he would never do that. This was for Jim though. Jim had wanted Blair to carry a weapon for almost as long as Blair had known him; he said it was because he wanted to know that Blair would be able to back him up. Blair was backing him up now, wasn't he?

He stepped into the warehouse and was instantly struck by the smell of a sewer. Coughing slightly, he brought his sweater up to cover his nose and mouth. Blair couldn't imagine how bad this smell was for Jim; it must be torture for him. Forcing the image of his partner being tortured out of his mind, Blair wiped the sweat off of his palms and focussed on the advice that Jim had given him.

"_You've gotta learn to separate yourself…If your emotions are in the way you're useless, potentially dangerous. Now, if you're gonna hang with cops, you've gotta learn to do the right thing because your life, and the lives of many others, are gonna depend on it."_

'Right you are, Jim." Blair thought. "Checking my emotions at the door." With that thought, he closed the warehouse door and made his way further inside.

At the end of the corridor, he came to a small room. He could hear men talking inside. They sounded relaxed, unafraid that they might be caught. Blair heard one of them say he was going to get some coffee so he stood to one side of the door and waited. When the first man came out, Blair was relieved to see that he wasn't a very tall man. He leapt out and put his arm around the man's neck, as he placed the barrel of the revolver against his head, just behind the jaw.

Blair frogmarched the man back into the room and noticed that the two other men with him were built a lot like Jim. He wondered who the leader was; he hoped it was the man he was holding hostage.

"Where's Jim Ellison?" Blair asked in the most menacing voice he could muster. The goon on the right jerked his head to the side. Blair glanced over to see what he was indicating and saw, through a window, Jim laying on the floor of a small room. He was curled up in the foetal position and shaking violently. Blair tightened his grip on the man he was holding and pressed the revolver in further.

"Let him go."

"Or what?"

"Or I kill your friend here, and then I kill you."

"You kill him and one of us will rip your arm out before you can pull that trigger again."

"You can try." Blair was surprised to notice that he was feeling eerily calm. There was nothing artificial about the snarl that came to his face or the threatening tone to his voice. "I didn't come alone. When I start shooting a dozen cops are gonna race over to this room and then you won't stand a chance of getting out of here alive." Blair knew he was achieving something when he saw the goons' eyes flick over to the man that Blair was holding.

"Okay, you want him?" Blair nodded once. "Fine take him. He's not responding to anything we throw at him anyway."

Blair dragged his hostage with him to the room Jim was in. Only when he was in there, and the door was closed, did he let the man go. Blair pointed the revolver at him and told him to leave or get shot - the man left.


	5. Chapter 5

Jim was in some kind of box. He could feel the wall he was pressed up against - it was warm. There were lots of colourful beams dancing around the box. They were pretty; they reminded him of fireworks he had seen when he was a very young boy.

"James! Don't touch that! It'll hurt you!" His mother had yelled at him.

Jim pressed himself up against the wall, trying to go through it. He had to get away from the beams. The beams were dangerous! His feet wouldn't grip on the floor. He couldn't get away.

There was a small pressure on his arm, holding him, scaring away the beams. He concentrated on the touch. The touch was safe - the beams faded when he concentrated on it.

"Sshhh, Jim. It's okay. It's all gonna be okay." Blair whispered soothingly. He ran his hand along Jim's arm; the contact seemed to calm him. Blair wanted to do more but Jim only seemed to respond to touch. Without letting go of the arm he was holding, Blair sat Jim up and pulled him into his arms so that Jim's head was resting over his heart.

Blair didn't know how long he had been sitting like that, when the door opened again. He picked the revolver up and aimed it, with his left hand, at the person who had entered the room.

"Put the gun down!" The detective yelled at him, snapping his own weapon up to point at Blair. Blair shrugged, put the revolver back by his side and turned his attention back to Jim.

"Come on Jim. You've gotta talk to me, man."

"The ambulance is on its way."

"It's okay now Jim. You're gonna be okay. Tell me you're gonna be okay, Jim." Blair rocked gently backwards and forwards, pressing his cheek against Jim's head.

Jim was back at the temple but he couldn't remember how he got there. The sun was setting in the sky; he hadn't seen a sunset here before. Time had always seemed to be stuck at the temple, unable to flow normally.

Just off in the distance he could see the panther. It was lying underneath a large tree and it had a nasty cut on its front leg. Jim was about to go and see if he could help it when he saw a wolf walk over. A grey wolf that didn't look like it belonged in the jungle and yet was obviously surviving. The wolf licked the panther's wound clean before curling up next to the injured animal.

Jim watched the pair with curiosity; they were an odd couple. No-one would have expected them to be allies, in fact it seemed highly unlikely that they would even like each other, and yet there they were, lying side by side. Jim wondered about the force that had drawn them together - it must have been very powerful.

Blair hated hospitals. The only thing worse than being a patient in one, was having your partner be a patient in one. The machines beeped constantly, informing Blair that Jim's heart was beating, at least. He had tried calling Simon but had got the answer machine again.

"Hey Simon, it's Blair," he had said after the beep. "We've found Jim. He's in hospital now; his kidnappers have been arrested. Chicago PD, the 27th district, are dealing with the case." It was only after he had hung up, that Blair had realised that he hadn't told Simon which hospital Jim was in. Simon would work it out.

The doctors were letting him stay with Jim. When they had tried to kick him out at the end of visiting hours, he curled up on a chair in the waiting room. One of the nurses had taken pity on him and told him that there was a cot in his friend's room that he could use if he wanted.

The sun had set in the jungle and all around was darkness. Jim couldn't see or hear anything; he could feel a soft pressure against his back though. There was something else, too - something warm gripping his hand. In the abyss of darkness, that feeling was his anchor.

His arm felt dead, like there was a weight pressing on it. It felt as thought the weight had been there for a while.

Then the weight was gone and the grip loosened. Jim could feel the warmth moving away. He couldn't allow it. Jim tightened his own hand, forcing the warmth to remain.

Blair's head spun to look at his hand. The grip on his hand was almost painful but it made his heart soar with happiness. He squeezed Jim's hand gently and the vice-like grasp was reduced to a more comfortable grip. Blair looked from his hand to the doctor, a grin filling his face.

"Well, Mr. Sandburg, it would seem that your friend would prefer that you stay close. This is a good sign. Perhaps you should see if you can get him to wake up?"

"How?"

"I don't know. You're a smart man, try something. Anything that he would normally respond to."

"Uh, okay." Blair thought quickly. What does Jim respond to? Well touch, obviously. Blair's forehead creased as he considered that. He moved his free hand up to touch Jim's ear. He made small circles with his fingertips on the soft skin just in front of the ear.

"Hey Jim." He whispered softly. "It's okay now Jim but you've gotta turn your senses up. You need to show us that you can understand." There was no response. Blair thought quickly. What if Jim could hear him but didn't know how to respond? "Jim, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

There was a long pause before Blair felt the grip on his hand tighten. His grin increased twofold, but he didn't flash this one at the doctor; all of his attention was concentrated on Jim. He moved his free hand so that his fingers were resting on Jim's right eyelid and the thumb was on his left eyelid. He rubbed Jim's eyes gently, willing Jim to open them. He was rewarded by slight movement under his fingertips.

Blair moved his hand to rest on Jim's right cheek, his thumb gently stroking under the eye. Jim blinked several times before focussing on Blair. There was a question in his eyes as he looked from Blair to the doctor and back to Blair again. Blair just grinned even more and pulled Jim into a hug.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey chief." Jim smiled. He was a little confused as to why he was in hospital. "Sandburg." The tight grasp around his lungs made him remember the concrete room, the beating and the foul stench that had hurt his lungs. "Gotta breath here, chief." Blair instantly released him, but didn't let go of his hand. Jim was glad for that, the constant contact was comforting.

"I'm sorry," Blair stuttered. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just…"

"Hey, it's okay." Jim squeezed Sandburg's hand, hoping to reassure his friend. "Thanks."

"Thanks? For hurting you?" Jim couldn't help but laugh.

"No, for saving me."

"It was my turn." Blair choked out, his voice full of emotions that Jim couldn't isolate.

"So what would the Chinese say about this then Chief?"

"The Chinese?"

"Yeah. Does this make you my blessed protector now?"

"You got any plans to get a tattoo in the near future?" Blair and Jim grinned. Jim cuffed Blair on the arm and shook his head in amusement.

"Mr. Ellison. It's good to see you awake."

Jim turned to look at the doctor. "Hi doc," he said.

"I was just about to run a few tests when you refused to let Mr. Sandburg leave." Jim looked to Blair for confirmation, looking back at the doctor with a shrug, when Blair nodded at him. "Well it doesn't matter because they aren't needed, now that you're back with us. I do have to do some other tests though. Do you mind if Mr. Sandburg waits over there?"

Jim looked to Blair. He knew it was irrational but he didn't want to let go of Blair; he didn't want to lose that connection.

Blair could see the reluctance in Jim's eyes, and he didn't want to leave his friend, but he knew that the doctor had a job that he needed to do. Squeezing Jim's hand and patting him on the arm reassuringly, Blair stepped back. Jim tightened his grip on Blair's hand and Blair saw his eyes widen in fear. He stepped forward and placed his hand over Jim's heart.

"Hey tough guy, it's okay. I'm not gonna go far. I've just gotta go call Simon - let him know you're okay." Jim nodded sharply and let Blair's hand go. Blair could see the tense muscles in Jim's jaw but just patted him on the shoulder before leaving the room.

The phone rang twice before Simon's gruff voice barked "Banks!" down the line."

"Hey Simon. It's…"

"Sandburg! What the hell is going on!"

"Well you see, Simon…"

"I go away for three days! Three days! And I get back to a bunch of messages, from you, telling me Jim's been kidnapped and you're in Chicago. And what the hell did you mean by 'Jim's in hospital'? Which hospital?"

"Jim was kidnapped in Cascade and brought to Chicago. I followed him. Then this Chicago detective and his partner, a Mountie…"

"A Mountie?"

"It's a long story. Anyway, they took on the case of looking for Jim and they found the Warehouse he was in and I found Jim and they arrested the kidnappers but…"

"Breathe Sandburg."

"But Jim was just lying there, not responding to anything but touch. So he's been in hospital for the last day in an almost coma but he woke up. Just now, he woke up."

"Which hospital is he in Sandburg?"

"Uh… Hold on a minute." Blair turned to a nurse who was just walking past. "Excuse me, what hospital is this."

"Northwestern Memorial Hospital." She said, giving him a suspicious once-over.

"You didn't know the name of the hospital that Jim's in?" Simon sounded angry.

"He's in Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago."

"Okay. Just keep me updated on his progress. When you get back you can explain it all to me, slowly."

"Right. Bye Simon."

Doctor Phillips had just finished poking and prodding Jim, when Sandburg walked into the room. Jim could see that he was tired. The bags under his eyes, the hunch of his shoulders and the way he was slightly dragging his feet were all dead giveaways. His slightly unfocussed eyes and the slight twitch of his left thigh muscle were signs that Jim was sure no-one else could spot.

"You need to get some sleep chief." Jim said, causing the doctor to look around. "You look like you haven't slept for days." When Blair's posture became instantly defensive, Jim knew he was right.

"I have slept enough. I was asleep until the doctor came in just before you woke up."

"You were asleep in the chair with your head on my arm. I doubt you got a good night's sleep like that."

"You knew I was there?"

'Good change of topic there, chief.' Jim thought before nodding.

"I hear the nurses set up a cot in here for you Mr. Sandburg, when they found you camped out in the waiting room."

"You camped out in the waiting room?" Blair shrugged at Jim.

"They told me visiting hours were over and wouldn't let me stay with you."

"As I was saying," the doctor interrupted. "There is a cot set up in here for you so I recommend that you both get some sleep." With that the doctor left the room.

Blair watched the door close, before turning his attention back to Jim. "How are your senses?" He asked.

Jim shook his head and Blair felt his heart speed up. What did Jim mean by no? Were they offline? They couldn't be, he had started responding as soon as he had dialled up his senses.

"Sandburg. Go to sleep."

"Aw, come on, Jim. How are they? Are they okay? Are they all back online? Why did they all shut down? Maybe we should run some tests, make sure you weren't given anything that would affect you differently." Blair fired the questions at Jim, worried that if he slowed to take a breath Jim would stop him. Jim sighed.

"They're fine, chief. But we're not doing anything until you get some sleep. I don't want you collapsing on me." Blair heard the finality in Jim's tone and nodded reluctantly.

Settling himself on the cot, he turned his head towards Jim's bed, and whispered. "Goodnight Jim. Welcome back, man."

As his eyelids fell shut, he heard Jim's whispering voice. "Goodnight Blair. It's good to be back." The voice got gradually quieter so that the last sentence was barely audible.

Jim listened as Blair's heart rate and breathing slowed to their normal sleep rhythm. He had heard the kid's conversation with Simon and knew that they were going to get a grilling when they got back to Cascade. The worry in Simon's voice had been unmistakable and Simon had a tendency to shout at people he had been worried about, when he knew they were okay again.

There would also be the issue of Blair having threatened to use Jim's revolver to deal with. Hopefully the situation would count as mitigating circumstances and Blair wouldn't get more than a slap on the wrist. Simon was definitely going to have a fit about it. Although, he hadn't been too angry last time Jim gave Sandburg his gun. Other than reading the firearms regulations to him, he had been pretty okay with it.

The doctor had told him that they hadn't been able to find anything wrong with him medically, that would explain his coma-like state. He was to be kept overnight for observation and he would have to take it easy for the next few days, while the bruises covering his body, especially the ones on his ribs, healed. He had been wrong about that cracked rib, it was just badly bruised.

All in all, things were pretty much normal. His senses did things doctors couldn't explain; Blair had ran himself into the ground and Simon was going to be pissed off. The only difference was, this time it had been him who had been hurt and Blair who had rescued him. Jim smiled - life was good.


End file.
